


Sunny

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prince Sam goes outside.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Sunny

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s in his study when he hears the music—the wistful humming of his favourite singer’s voice. The melody is foreign to him, as most of Frodo’s music is, and when Frodo does speak, the lyrics are in a strange, artful language far beyond Sam’s understanding. It’s probably Elven, or maybe even Dwarven—something from far away and all the more magical for it. The king must be asleep, because if Sam’s old gaffer heard such nonsense, Frodo would quickly be told to keep quiet, or at least stick to proper _hobbit_ songs.

Sam doesn’t care about being a proper hobbit. He doesn’t care about keeping up appearances or traditions or anything else but the way the sun looks when it catches in Frodo’s dark curls, and the way he smiles up at Sam when he realizes he has an audience. Sam steps back from the railing on his balcony, blushing up a storm. He hadn’t even realized he’s stepped out into the open, but it’s not surprising—his gorgeous gardener always puts him in a trance. 

As he’s already caught, he decides to wander down. Their two-story royal smial in the top of the hill is the largest hobbit-hole that Sam’s ever been in, but it still isn’t far, and Frodo’s still on the same song by the time Sam’s stepping out into the sunlit gardens. Frodo trails off at the ends of the final stanza when he sees Sam coming. He’s kneeling by the rose bushes, bare legs covered in dirt, his gloves and sheers and other tools all around him. Sam’s always found gardening a fascinating business, though Frodo’s even more so. Frodo grins sweetly and greets, “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” Sam returns. Then, because he already feels tongue tied and can’t think of anything else, he blurts, “That was a lovely song.”

“Thank you. I hear flowers like the old Elven songs, so I’m doing my best.”

“Do they?” That sounds half ridiculous and half utterly believable. Sam can’t decide. Sam watches Frodo slowly prune the roses and, caught up in the gentle moment, admits, “I keep meaning to learn more about this garden.”

“You should,” Frodo muses. Of course he would say that—he’s in them every morning.

“But my gaffer says that’s for common folk, so...” As soon as Sam’s said it, he regrets it, and he turns bright pink, hurriedly correctly, “Sorry.”

But Frodo just laughs, light and clear. “And my Bilbo says we’re all terribly common and all very much not at all, if that makes any sense to you, so I say do what you like.”

That sounds exactly like the sort of riddle Bilbo would say. Sam’s always liked Bilbo, but he likes Frodo more. After a moment of quiet piece, Frodo working and Sam just enviously watching, Frodo turns back and lifts up a trowel for Sam to take. He promises, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Sam glances behind him, but no one’s around—it’s a glorious spring morning, just him, Frodo, the birds, and the flowers, and he can’t think of anything better than digging his hands into the warm earth while Frodo serenades him. Sam murmurs, “Thank you,” and sits down too.


End file.
